


Blackout: Paradox

by snapplegirl



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), Supergirl (TV 2015), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Justice League of America - Freeform, Spoilers for lastest seasons, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-16 17:10:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7276639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snapplegirl/pseuds/snapplegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of season 2 of the Flash, the DCU is in peril. Dimensions have collapsed in on each other, leading to a new world with a new League of heroes. And new villains have united under a mysterious cause. Will add more tags as I go on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Recruit

An unassuming young woman hurried past the silent alleys. Her father would kill her if he knew she was out so late, alone, taking shortcuts through untraveled streets. He was a cop, a damn good one, as he liked to say, and he'd seen too many women her age become victims in their cold city.

She wanted to tell her father that trapping her inside wouldn't stop the horrible crimes she'd read about in the paper. Telling her to walk with an escort just meant that some other woman would get attacked that day. Someone who wasn't like her. Someone who couldn't fight back. But she couldn't tell him anything anymore.

"Hey Girlie!" a voice called out in the night.

She let out a wry chuckle. If she could rely on one aspect of this city, it was its thriving criminal nightlife. She turned in the direction of the voice, and saw a compact but intimidating man flanked by two muscular goons. In his hand was a heavy walking stick, adorned with an intricate pattern of vines and thorns leading up to an ornate rose handle. The man held the cane with a steel grip, his stance further assuring the young vigilante that what he held was not a sign of enfeeblement; it was a weapon.

"This here's Falcone territory, you better pay the toll"

"Okay, let me get my wallet," she replied, reaching into her pocket. The man advanced on her as her hand grasped around her brass knuckles. "Keep the change!" she quipped as she nailed him straight in the jaw with a powerful right cross. She felt a crunch before the man recoiled.

Like she fired a starting pistol, the other two men leapt to their boss's defense. She managed to keep one at bay with a well-placed roundhouse kick, but failed to take out the other before he recovered. The two of them made an effective team, flanking her so she couldn't maneuver properly in the narrow alley. Barely suppressing a smirk, the young crusader sprang towards the thug blocking her exit and grabbed his arm in a crushing grip. With her diminutive size and considerable strength, she slammed her weight into his hip, using his arm to guide the man over her shoulder with a thunderous sound. She turned to take on the final criminal when a glint of silver caught her eye. The lead enforcer for the Falcone family overcame the shock of her initial attack, and joined the fray.

Her newest assailant wielded his cane with deadly power. In just a few moments he struck her legs hard, knocking her to the ground with deadly precision. Once she collapsed, the other man pressed his advantage, kicking her in the chest to keep her on the ground. She had time to realize that no one was alive to mourn her when a flash of blonde entered her field of view.

The hair, as it turned out, belonged to a woman with a Bo staff. She had the goon attacking the beaten woman on the ground with two thwacks of her weapon. A graceful turn and a flick of her wrist deflected a blow from the lead thug's cane. The two exchanged blows back and forth, but the gulf between the two fighter's skills where obvious to the girl on the ground.

"She's good," she gasped, wincing as the words stabbed at her rib cage.

"She trained under Ra's Al Gul, just like our old friend, well, the Ra's in this universe at any rate," the shadows whispered in agreement. A familiar young man emerged from a fire escape the redhead swears wasn't there before.

"Robin, you're alive?" Barbara Gordon exclaimed, this time successfully ignoring the pain in her lungs.

"Yeah," he replied with a wistful smile before adding, almost as an afterthought, "but it's Nightwing now."

"What about-"

"As far as we know, he's gone," the man interrupted, his grief clear on his face. He brightened slightly, "But he'd be proud of how much you've been doing for this new world."

"It's not enough though, not like what he did," Barbara observed, taking a cue from her friend to avoid his guardian's name.

"Well, that's why we're here" the blonde woman interjected, having secured the three thugs with zip ties. She offered her hand to the younger woman, carefully helping her stand.

"My name is Sara Lance, and I'm a member of the Justice League of America."

***

The three of them had woven through the street until they came upon phone booth. In any other city, the object would have looked out of place, but Gotham always loved to preserve its history, regardless of practicality. Their new companion, Sara, entered the phone booth. Her body blocked the keypad, but Barbara still heard her press four numbers and hang up the phone three times. After the phone returned to the cradle for the final time, a portal opened. With a nod from her trusted friend, Barbara stepped through.

After a moment of disorientation, she found herself in a large room, with high ceiling. A warehouse, she guessed, or a factory. The place was empty with the exception of eight large, blue shipping containers, stacked two high and two deep against the back wall. Sara Lance led the pair to a hidde  
n door in the nearest container. Inside, the eight containers formed one large studio apartment.  
“Welcome to one of JLA’s safe houses. Central city location.” Sara declared with a sweeping gesture.  
“Homey,” Barbara quipped, only half joking.

Someone had removed two sides of each container with some form of blowtorch, later melding the seams to form the exterior walls, floors, and ceiling. Frosted panes made of a strong plastic decorated the walls. These panes were colored alternating shades of blue, the opaque material showing tiny hints of the dark blue exterior. Altogether, the walls gave the impression of being encased in a block of ice.

The room itself was sparsely decorated. A temporary wall decorated with charred wood separated a two piece bathroom from the rest of the space. After quickly using the ornately decorated restroom—she had spent quite some time patrolling after all--Barbara noticed another area separated by a similar divider hiding three sets of bunkbeds from view.

Two sets of bunkbeds where also clad with charred wood and separated by yet another room divider. The third set seemed hastily added, made of build-standard wood and separated from the rest of the space by a simple white room divider. Whatever plans this JLA had for the space, it required more lodging than what was initially provided.

“It belonged to a friend of mine; he had a bit of a flair for the dramatic,” the White Canary replied, her eyes shining with distant fondness. 

“And I take it he was a fan of shou sugi ban?” the redheaded girl joked.

The blonde woman shot her a confused look, turning to Nightwing for an explanation.

“The Japanese process of charring wood to make it less susceptible to burning and rot,” the boy explained.

Sara looked back and forth between the two of them “And that was part of your training because…?” 

The two teens exchanged grins as if remembering an inside joke. 

“It’s handy for making furniture in caves,” Barbara replied with a giggle.

“Well, his partner was the one who liked burning things”

“And the gold fixtures in the bathroom?”

“That was his sister. These walls,” the White Canary stroked her hand down the plastic panes, surprisingly warm despite their icy appearance, “were more his style.”

The older woman shook her head as if clearing her mind of depressing thoughts. No stranger to grief herself as of late, Barbara knew enough to change the topic.

"So why Nightwing?" Barbara asked taking comfort in addressing her old friend.

"New universe, new name." He explained simply.

"And a better costume," Sara added wryly.

The young man shrugged "For a guy who only wears ironic t-shirts and jeans, Cisco's a great designer."

"Not hard to top that circus outfit you used to wear," Barbara teased.

"Hey, I made that look good" he shot back with a friendly grin.

The former boy wonder tensed but did not startle as he was suddenly encircled by his comrade's welcoming arms. He forced his body to relax into her grip and return the hug.

"I'm so glad you're here. This world is so different and I just," her shaky voice tapered off. He hugged her tighter, and pretended not to notice she was crying. She recovered quickly, breaking out of his grasp to face his unfamiliar friend.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"I need your help. Or, to be more accurate, the world does," Sara began. "Last year, a man from the Justice Society of America of Earth 2 told me that if I were to get on a ship, I'd die. Which, if you know my life, is oddly ironic. The next thing I know, time itself has been ripped apart, and you Out-worlders showed up."

"It's not like we had a choice!" the heroine snapped, suddenly weary of the new woman. She knew she wasn't being fair, but she was tired of the in-worlders loudly mourning over the loss of their simple universe. Last year, she lost her entire world, minus one city. A city which did not include her parents. A city trapped in a country that didn't recognize its existence.

"That's what I wanted to give you, a choice," the stranger replied in a soft voice. "The world has changed for all of us, and we need heroes more than ever. This time, we need to stay united. Over the past year, we've recruited Outworld and inworld heroes. We have a promising warrior from Earth Atlantis, a young Martian and a Kryptonian from Earth 3, and a handful of new meta humans from Prime Earth. Our goal is to create an organization of superheroes designed to protect every universe, new and old. The American government has been cooperating with our efforts...for the most part"

Barbara considered the stranger's words. "I'm not sure I can leave Gotham unprotected to join you guys," she admitted. Gotham was in desperate need of support. Just a month into the Crisis, Congress voted not to provide Gotham with federal funding. Gotham, they reasoned, was not legally part of Prime Earth's United States of America, and was therefore ineligible for citizenship, state and federal aid, and emergency relief. They vowed to revisit the issue after the city was vetted, quarantined for any extra-dimensional viruses, and once the "chaos died down."

Almost a year later, the city was in ruins. Lack of public funding had closed down schools, hospitals, fire departments, and all but one police station. Her father's former colleagues toiled by candlelight to battle the omnipresent gangs. Without outside trade, drugs, weapons, and prostitutes were the only businesses still thriving. Atlantis, with its skilled magicians and underwater treasures, was able to establish itself as a sovereign nation almost immediately. Metropolis had floundered for a while, but after LexCorp started patenting their dimension's technology, leading the city to a steady financial recovery. Mars, being unreachable except through LexCorp shuttles, was left to exist peacefully alone in self-sufficiency. But the view of Gotham only darkened as the criminal plague oozed out into the surrounding towns, and Congress seemed content to let the city burn.

"This can help Gotham. The country can see that it has heroes like us, and we can get the rest of the Justice League's help with our gang crisis," Nightwing offered.

With her friend's reassurance, there was only one question left.

"I still get to keep my costume, right?" Barbara had always been fond of her simple black catsuit adorned with a golden bat logo on the chest, a golden utility belt , a cape that allowed her to glide into a controlled fall from almost any height and a large, black mask with pointed ears to safely ensure her identity. She couldn't imagine being one of those heroes who wore a tiny mask or, even worse, some paint or a different posture. Even with her parents in another dimension--she refused to think of them as dead--she didn't want to risk her identity. It was all she had left in the world.

"Absolutely!" came the blonde's enthusiastic answer. "The more people who know you're Batgirl from Gotham's Earth, the faster your image improves."

"And we need to start work on the gang crisis now, before it undoes any progress we've made," Barbara demanded. She was gratified to see her companions nod in agreement.

"We've been trying to combat the issue on our side, but we're working blind. Nightwing's information is incredibly dated-"

"It's been a long year," the former boy wonder explained.

"Well, I mostly beat thugs, not chat with them, but I know someone who can help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated to describe one of their safe houses. For anyone revisiting start at the second paragraph after the first break ("After a moment of disorientation") changes end at "so why Nightwing?"


	2. Breaking the Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> World building and some new characters.
> 
> Feedback fuels me.

With the decline of Gotham's economy, the Iceberg Lounge had become the closest thing to a thriving, legitimate business in their streets. Dick Grayson tried to hide his revulsion at this fact. His mentor had worked so hard to close down the Penguin's club. He had finally managed to publicly discredit the Penguin and reveal the black market business his club sheltered. Then the universe collapsed, and Gotham fell. As the high-class establishments were vandalized and its owners assaulted or killed, even the average citizens flocked to the club. Its illegal service, once the reason law-abiding citizens fled from its frosted glass doors, was now part of the allure. The citizens of Gotham were desperate for resources, and the Penguin could provide.

The club had made some renovations in the recent year. With the ever-dropping price of real estate, the Penguin had bought the entire building, merging the first two floors so that the ceiling hung almost twenty feet above them. Any black market-dealings now took place in a sub-basement, leaving plenty of room on the entry level for a massive dance floor and an elevated stage half-hidden by plush red curtains. Upstairs, the next five floors contained more space for dancing. Each floor was soundproof, containing its own dj, bar, and drug dealers. Further up were corporate offices and various privately owned business. Many of these businesses were legal, just in desperate need of power in order to operate. The Penguin rented out these areas in exchange for a cut of the profits, but his real reward was the ability to control the entire Gotham economy.

Barbara had considered shutting the place down in the past year. With some careful planning and a little luck, she could have dismantled the entire market. But this market didn't just sell illegal drugs and weapons. The market stocked grocery stories and pharmacies. It used stolen electronic equipment to tap into the power grid, allowing certain buildings to have power. The Iceberg Lounge market was corrupt, brutal, and, until the city had infrastructure of its own, a godsend to those living within its borders. So the Lounge remained, just under a watchful eye. Barbara revealed all of this information to the two League members in her safe house, but Dick had no idea how she accessed any of these details.

The three heroes pushed past the large bouncer, Dick and Sara having changed out of their costumes to blend into the group of patrons. While the younger heroes cased the area, they were surprised to see their older comrade head straight to the bar. She quickly pushed to the front of the line and ordered a particularly colorful cocktail adorned with a cherry and a tiny umbrella. She wove through the crowd back to the teens.

"Drinking on the job?" Nightwing observed with disapproval.

The former assassin rolled her eyes and explained. "We're in a bar; it'd be weird if none of us had a drink."

"And if we get in a fight?" he countered.

Sara paused to take a long sip from her drink, locking eyes with the disapproving teen as if daring him to stop her. "Bartenders always skimp on the liquor with fruity drinks like these. The girls can't taste it anyway, and it keeps overhead low. I can nurse two or three of these and never even feel a buzz."

Dick's expression quickly changed to that of respect. He honestly never considered that. And neither would Batman, he thought with a wince, the name hurting even within the confines of his own head. Although, to be fair to his mentor, he'd probably look infinitely more conspicuous with a neon-pink drink with a purple mini umbrella.

Barbara led the group to a booth several rows away from the stage. She motioned for Dick to sit down first, and then joins him. Sara sat down next to her without prompting.

"Where's your pal?" Sara asked in a low voice.

"You'll know in five minutes," Barbara replied, taking every opportunity to be the cryptic one for a change.

Dick considered her word for a second. Her confidence in the exact time puzzled him for a moment, until he looked towards the stage.

"A performer, huh," Dick Grayson deduced, "sounds like we'll get along."

Barbara resisted the urge to groan. Sara, on the other hand, did not.

"Show off," their new companion chided.

The former ward of the world's greatest detective just grinned. His smile slid off his face when The Penguin emerged from the velvet curtains. The music cut out, quickly replaced with quiet classical music. The deformed man waddled over to the microphone to address the crowd.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please clear the entry level dance floor and take a seat." A few of the patrons shuffled upstairs for more dancing, but they were soon replaced by a larger throng of people hoping to catch the show.

The Penguin waited, flamboyantly conducting the pre-recorded orchestra, for patrons to shuffle towards the stage. Once the booths and tables were filled, he gestured for his staff to add even more seating to the dance floor. When everyone was seated, the Penguin cut the music with a gesture and spoke once more.

"Presenting Timothy the Terrific and his beautiful assistant, Zatanna!"


	3. The Magician's Assistant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a magic show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warning: self harm (as part of a magic act, so it isn't "real")
> 
> This was a tough one for me. My computer crashed and I lost half my work, and the chapter ended up being much longer than I anticipated. Lots of world building and setting up characters.

"Presenting Timothy the Terrific and his beautiful assistant, Zatanna!"

The Penguin stepped aside as the curtains rose to reveal an empty stage. With a puff a smoke, the performers appeared, along with a wooden coffin and a table covered with an opaque cloth. The coffin was small, appearing to be made of simple pine, but Dick knew enough about performers—not to mention investigations—to distrust his eyes on that observation. The magician, Timothy wore a flowing robe adorned with stars and a large, pointed hat. On an older man, perhaps he would have looked like a wise old wizard, but the young magician reminded Grayson more of Mickey Mouse trying to clean a wizard's tower.

His assistant, Zatanna, faired a bit better, if only because she looked the part. A few years younger than her boss, she was the perfect age for the pretty assistant. Her attire was revealing, but not impractically so. Her corset was tight enough to distract the males in the audience--and some of the females, he reminded himself, looking at an enraptured Sara--but didn't seem to restrict her movement. She stood on modestly heeled boots that stopped midway up her thigh to reveal fishnet stockings. A cape and a black top hat completed the outfit.

The young magician walked to the microphone and addressed the crowd "We live in a world of danger" a flash of fire burst from his hand as he gestured. "Impossible nightmares have become reality. Aliens from other planets, mutants with dangerous powers, and humans from other dimensions do nothing to protect us." 

The magician paused, giving Dick Grayson a moment to observe his companions’ solemn expressions at the reminder of their failures. Sara was staring dismally at her drink, afraid to meet her companion’s eyes knowing she failed their city. Barbara, who had spent most of the speech staring impassively towards the stage, covered her face with her hand seemingly out of sensitivity to Sara’s guilt. The rest of the crowd murmured in agreement at the performer’s words. A few shouted encouragement.

“The heroes abandoned us!”

“Good riddance!”

“Where’s Batman!”

“Who cares? Pass the booze!” Another voice called out, eliciting drunken laughter from the more unsavory members of the audience. Dick recognized the man’s voice from his days as Robin. Knowing the information could be useful, the former sidekick tried to recall the name that belonged to the voice. Unfortunately, he quickly realized he couldn’t place the name on voice alone, and satisfying his curiosity wasn’t worth the risk of looking suspicious. No matter how much the feeling frustrated him.

The magician cleared his throat, immediately hushing the rowdy crowd. "Men can run faster than light itself, women can collapse buildings with nothing but a shout. Grotesque parodies of human beings hide among us!" The lights dimmed as the performer's tone grew ever darker. "Magic, a dangerous and power entity that can destroy entire worlds, is now a tool for war. The very ground beneath and sky above has been ripped apart and reformed anew! We live in a world of fear and uncertainty, but also of the incredible.” The stage erupted with fire and smoke to uproarious applause. The magician cut off the audience with a gesture and continued with a lighter tone.

"And tonight, you don't need to worry about the incredible, the magical. Because now, the wonders of the world have been harnessed by humankind. Not to harm, or to frighten, but to entertain!" The performer rose several inches above the stage to the delight of the captivated audience.

The act began with Timothy picking a member of the audience seated in the front row. The volunteer was a balding older man in rather expensive clothing. He was clearly one of the richer residents of Gotham, and Dick was distressed to realize that he didn't recognize the man. At the magician's request, the volunteer inspected the coffin carefully declaring it a normal wooden box. Unsatisfied with the man’s cursory search, the magician prompted the man further.

“Let’s make sure the audience agrees.” 

He opened the box, holding the lid straight up for the audience to see. Painted in vibrant red on the lid of the coffin were four small bullseyes. The first two Bullseyes were positioned in an almost straight vertical line; the other two were much lower, and positioned across from each other in a horizontal row. He shifted the box to its side, giving the audience a peak of the unadorned interior. 

Now with the audience's approval, Zatanna climbed into the box and closed the lid. The coffin covered her entire torso and down her legs, stopping at mid-thigh. A vaguely nauseous sense of foreboding washed over Dick when he realized that the Bullseyes on the lid of the coffin had been positioned in such a way that it covered her heart, stomach, and each thigh. Even the lower two bullseyes suggested deadly injuries, as a direct hit from any weapon would slice through the femoral artery, causing Zatanna to bleed out in moment. 

"You may return to your seat," the performer instructed, he waited for the man to exit the stage before adding, "I need another volunteer!"

This time, Nightwing recognized the volunteer. He was the same man who shouted his apathy at the disappearance of Gotham’s greatest detective. Johnny Viti, hit man for Carmine Falcone, was spending his time off taking in the local culture. The former sidekick tried to catch Barbara's eye, but she stared resolutely towards the stage, occasionally reaching beside her for a miniscule sip of water at a time. The circus performer in him pitied the magician and wondered if he knew how dangerous his volunteer truly was. Viti started walking towards the stage, but stopped short when a thin tendril of smoke slithered towards him. The hit man chuckled, assured that this was a part of the act. Veils of smoke rose to obscure him from the audience before dispelling, revealing an empty space where the man once stood. 

After a brief charade of searching for the hit man, Timothy the Magnificent lifted the shroud covering the table. A confused Johnny Viti was crouched underneath the table. Upon recognizing his new surroundings, the Falcone employee school his face into an indifferent mask and stood to greet the performer.

"Have I attempted to coerce you in any way to play along with my tricks," Timothy the Terrific asked the deadly hit man before shoving the microphone in his face.

Johnny chuckled darkly and replied "Not a chance."

"Good, I doubt that would end well for me," the magician joked to the uproarious laughter of both the crowd and Johnny. Even Sara let out a giggle, ignoring Nightwing's glare.

"Now, I need you to summon my magic daggers," the performer continued as he removed the cloth from the table with a flourish.

Once again, the volunteer checked for trick compartments in the table. The magician tossed the cloth to Johnny, who covered the table again at his instructions. After a few phony incantations—at least, Nightwing assumed they were phony, who knew with this world?—Timothy removed the cloth a final time to reveal four sharp daggers and a large katana.

"Could you inspect the knives?" he requested, folding the cloth and storing it in his pocket.

"No problem," the thug grunted out. He picked up each dagger, feeling the edges. He held them by the hilt to feel the balance. Finally he grabbed the katana, actually cutting himself a little during his inspection.

"They're real."

"And I think he knows his knives," the magician stage-whispered to the crowd.

"Prefer guns actually," the volunteer shot back with a toothy sneer.

"I'm afraid you'll have to make due," the apprentice joked from her wooden prison.

Nightwing didn't like the sinister chuckle the young woman's comment elicited from the deadly killer. The hero stiffened when, at the magician's direction, the hit man approached the confined girl, one blade poised in his right hand, the other resting in sheath at his side. Barbara rested her hand on her old friend’s shoulder, reminding him to stay calm.

"Now that we know the knives are real, how about you stab one through my lovely assistant."

From her supine position, Zatanna gave the murderer a saucy wink. With her encouragement, the hit man grasped the first dagger in his hand and positioned the pointed blade two feet over her chest. He kept his hand aloft, refusing to lower the blade. It seemed the hit man blanched at the idea of killing the charismatic young girl. Perhaps he feared reprisals from the enraptured audience.

Or maybe having a willing victim takes away the thrill, the young hero considered darkly.

Whatever the reason, Johnny Viti hesitated as he stared down at the assistant's smiling face. Not at all charmed by his uncharacteristic mercy, the magician's assistant groaned loud enough to be picked up by the microphones.

"Men are such babies," the woman complained as she reached for the hit man’s hand. The man’s eyes grew cold at her casual emasculation, but relinquished his grip on the dagger. A few members of the audience looked to the men at Johnny’s table, as if seeking permission to laugh. Realizing his chance to observe these criminals without suspicion, Nightwing turned to the table as well. The men were all thugs for Carmine Falcone, unsurprising given Barbara’s report that they control the valuable real estate around the Iceberg Lounge. They seemed relaxed, drinking scotch while occasionally laughing at the action onstage. Nightwing was relieved, if they had been silent, chances were they were offended by their buddy’s treatment. Even worse, if they had been laughing too had, Nightwing would have to worry about Viti becoming violent in order to earn back his credibility.

Weapon firmly in hand, the assistant immediately stabbed the blade into her right thigh. Or at least, Dick reminded himself, the place the audience assumes her thigh would be. Even with this reminder, Dick found himself wincing as she removed the blade, which dripped with blood. Even more blood came from a blood pack in the coffin—he refused to think of it as her leg—and the dangerous volunteer visibly recoiled when she reached for the second blade and sheathed it in her left thigh. More prepared for her actions the second time, the young detective took in too-red blood that trickled out with far too little force to be an arterial wound and felt his shoulders relax.

The audience, not all of them familiar with the look and behavior of fresh blood, gasped, and Dick noticed Barbara’s hand was pressed to her mouth in shock. As Dick looked around the room, he noticed guards reassuring the more sensitive audience members that this was all part of the act. He wasn’t sure how they managed to convince anyone with the panicked glances they keep exchanging amongst themselves. The young detective wondered whether the entire act was new, or just the blood packs. Even Timothy the Terrific seemed nauseas, as if he wasn’t aware how profoundly the sight would affect him. 

The only person in the room bearing a smile was the seemingly injured assistant, who laughed as Johnny Viti moved as far away from her as possible.

“Poor baby’s squeamish” Zatanna cooed in mock concern. “I guess we know why he prefers guns.” 

The look of hatred in Viti’s unblinking eyes had the audience too afraid to laugh. His skin was deep red, teeth bared, nostrils flared and pulling in large, frequent gulps of air. When his lips curled upwards in a grotesque grin, Nightwing wondered how many people saw that face and lived to tell about it. Before this night, he would’ve assumed he could count that number on one hand. Now an entire audience shrunk from his gaze. Another glance to Viti’s table revealed some tense giggling. 

At least they aren’t too afraid to laugh, Nightwing reassured himself. 

Timothy, unlike Viti’s friends, didn’t even crack a smile. Cold fear crossed the magician’s face as he made an attempt to placate his volunteer. 

“Hey, Zatanna, let’s be fair, the audience doesn’t seem to like this trick either, maybe we should rework the act.”

Zatanna rolled her eyes, but may have conceded his point, for she didn’t remove the second blade from her leg. Her actions may have indulged the audience, but she loudly announced her distain.

“Tell you what, I’ll do the next two for ya if you’re scared,” the assistant continued, further winding up the murderous psycho.

The hit man grabbed two more daggers from the table, holding them in his clenched fists. He angrily stalked back to his earlier position by her side and glared down at the woman before slamming both fists onto the coffin, both blades penetrating the center of the remaining bullseyes.

Zatanna screamed; her limbs jolting as if struck by a live wire. After a moment of flailing, the assistant’s cries turned to desperate gasps, and the young woman lay still.

The color instantly drained from Viti’s face. He stared at his hands with a far off look in his eye. 

“I felt it go in,” the killer whispered, his distant voice barely picked up by the microphones onstage. 

The young detective caught the White Canary’s gaze, nodding towards the stage, words unnecessary. Searching for an answer, Sara turned to the redheaded heroine, who gestured for them to remain seated. Nightwing clenched his fists but took his trusted comrade’s lead. Several people attempted to exit the building, afraid of being implicated in whatever had transpired. Before the crowd’s panic could reach a dangerous pitch, a tinkling, feminine laugh pierced the crowd, carried by the speakers in the club’s walls.

“I think the hit man pissed himself,” The magician’s assistant taunted. “I guess we know why he prefers guns!”

For a moment, Viti seemed too relieved to register the assistant’s insult. Then the laughter began. The relief of not having witnessed a murder, combined with Johnny’s baffled expression, brought the crowd to a near hysteria. At least a full minute of laughter ensued, only dying off when Viti collected himself enough for his full fury to be obvious. The man’s was shaking from withholding his rage. His fists clenched so hard his knuckles were white. Eyes wild and teeth bared, the man took a step towards the young woman. Timothy reacted instantly producing the magic cloth and covering the man with it in one swift motion. The hit man instantly froze.

“Let’s have a round of applause for our volunteer!” the Timothy the Magnificent requested, his tone seeking to imply that this anger was all part of the act, his eyes not quite obeying his intentions. 

A few members clapped hesitantly, looking to the men at Viti’s table for some cue on how to react. The hit man’s pals seemed similarly baffled. Viti’s frozen silhouette underneath the magic cloth suggested he was still going along the act. However, past experiences with the man made it clear to Nightwing that the man didn’t let go of anger so easily, and his friends must have agreed based on their confusion.

“Well that’s not a proper applause. Sorry Viti, how about some free drinks to make up for it?” Timothy offered the still-motionless form. The magician turned to face the audience, catching the eye of the bartender. “Give his table a few bottles of scotch, on me.”

His words broke through to Viti’s fellow gangsters, who cheered at the suggestion. With the crowd placate, Timothy removed the cloth from the frozen form, finding only emptiness in its place. A spotlight fell on Viti’s table as the volunteer crawled out from under the table. With a single look to his criminal crew, the men meekly made room for the man. The bartender emerged with six glasses, a bucket of ice and a bottle of scotch to start, promising to return with more when they were done before hurrying to the safety of the back room. 

The audience applauded before turning back to the stage as the magician began the final act. Nightwing kept his attention focused on the criminals’ table, watching from the corner of his eye as Viti poured a scotch, neat, with steady hands. The man sipped the drink slowly, holding the glass in a white knuckled hand. The glass was almost completely full when Viti set it down, a little too close to the man next to him. The man, having been drinking all evening, was much more intoxicated than Viti, and ended up knocking over the mostly full glass the next time he reached for his drink. Viti cut off the man’s drunken apology, pouring himself another drink and leaving it untouched on the table.

“How do you feel Zatanna?” the magician’s voice bringing Nightwing’s focus back to the stage. He took in the spectacle on stage with a sense of wonder. Zatanna stood in the middle of the stage with the katana in one hand. Or rather, Zatanna’s body stood in the middle of the stage. Her head was resting on the table, casually listening to her boss’ question.

“I feel like I lost 150 pounds” the head joked. Zatanna’s body shook its fist at the head in mock outrage.

“Sorry, I meant 120,” the head corrected itself with a knowing wink to the audience.

Nightwing found himself smiling at the simple joke, before stoically shifting his focus back to the source of danger. Viti made polite conversation with his friends. That alone was alarming; Viti wasn’t known for being polite, unless he was planning something. Even more concerning, he still wasn’t drinking. His friends, however, seemed fairly relaxed. These men were used to scanning for potential threats, and if they didn’t care about Viti’s uncharacteristic behavior, perhaps another theory was in play. 

Maybe Viti knew he was a mean drunk, and didn’t want to start a scene. Nightwing had previously credited him with all the self-awareness of an ameba, but a lot can change in a year. Given the Iceberg Lounge was the favorite hangout for all of Gotham and housed Carmine Falcone, so perhaps the man was frightened of incurring the bouncers’ wrath. 

“Thank you for having us and goodnight!” Timothy’s voice echoed through the room.

Nightwing’s eyes turned towards the stage only to be immediately drawn back to the motion of Viti reaching into his suit pocket, followed quickly by a glint of metal.

The hero stood to charge at the man, but was slowed by the crowd shuffling out of their seats. Their quiet exit was pierced by the sound of a gunshot and Zatanna falling off the stage. The audience stopped, stunned. Given the night’s performance, many seemed to hold on hope that her death was just an act. Nightwing stared at the blood pooling on the ground, its deep red leaving him with no doubt. He turned to see Viti, gun in hand, standing alone in front of his table. His friends had backed away from the table, hands up, as if to indicate that they had nothing to do with this murder, for once. Nightwing tried to charge for the man, but was stopped by Barbara. 

“We need to regroup,” his old friend whispered the command in his ear. 

Nightwing shrugged off her grip and continued toward the murderer. He wasn’t going to let his gang punish him however they saw fit. He would bring that woman’s killer to justice—

Another shot rang out, and Viti collapsed on the ground. Sara and Barbara used this opportunity to grab Nightwing and escape.

***  
After a lecture from Sara, then Barbara, about trusting his teammates and following the mission, the trio found themselves at a rundown building in the south side of Gotham. 

“Our old safe house,” Dick observed, the familiar sight calming him.

Barbara nodded before unlocking the door and ushering the other two inside.

“Now we wait,” Barbara told them.

“What for what, exactly?” Sara asked.

“I gave my contact this address. Now we wait to see if the extraction plan went well.”

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Sara replied, eyebrow arched in amusement, “What was the extraction plan, exactly?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Barbara answered with a shrug.

“What?!” Dick nearly shouted. “Failing to mention that we didn’t even meet your contact, how is that an extraction plan? That wasn’t a plan. That was—“

“That, my dear Nightwing, was magic,” a voice answered from the doorway. Dick tensed as Timothy the Magnificent entered the room. While he didn’t participate in Zatanna’s murder, he certainly didn’t move to stop it. The way he ran from the gunshots was perfectly understandable from a bystander’s perspective, but Nightwing expected so much more from a comrade in arms. The coward didn’t even look remorseful, addressing the trio as if he were still on stage.

“And that’s not all, audience! For tonight was also,” the magician spun his cape flamboyantly around his body and a higher, feminine voice finished the thought, “a perfect extraction.”

Sara and Barbara actually applauded as Zatanna revealed herself to them, alive and well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry; it's all part of the act


End file.
